Some Things Left to Bury
by sh3rw1n
Summary: Nick would have liked to ditch just the kid's mouth, but Ellis and his chatter came as a package. And Nick is determined to get the kid through this. An advancement through a graveyard elicits an advancement in emotion, as well. Rated T for a kiss.


Nick was beginning to wonder what he had done (besides all the conning, gamblin', sleeping around, and that one time he shot that guy in the leg) to deserve this torture. He supposed he was rightfully subject to some type of reprimanding situation, but none of the aforementioned acts merited _this._ First off: he was in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Yeah, you read right, a straight-up, right-outta-the-movies zombie fucking apocalypse. The moaning, snarling bitches weren't even the worst part of it, either. At least the zombies you could shut up with a good 'ol shotgun. Your teammates, however, you couldn't. Or, at least, _shouldn't._ Nick was no cold blooded killer, but with the three he was stuck with, he sure as hell could become one.

First off, there was Rochelle. She had good intentions and all, but the whole mother-hen personality of hers drove Nick absolutely insane. He had to hold his tongue on more than one occasion as she asked him if he was okay, or how did he feel about the plan, or some other annoying-ass inquiry. He wanted to tell her to fuck off, leave him alone, but he guessed it was just part of her nature to be overbearing. At least on the plus side, she was kinda hot.

Next on the 'well-fuck-this-shit' list was Coach. The heavy set man and Nick instantly got off on the wrong foot. Apparently the ex-football teacher didn't like Nick's attitude about this whole situation. The large, darker man scoffed and retorted with little snippets at Nick's comments about his suit. Sure, Nick may have been complaining a little, but _fuck_, that suit was _expensive. _He had told Coach "Just because my suit here costs more than you made a month, no need to be bitchy." The heavy set man told the snarky northerner to go eat shit.

But even motherly Rochelle and leering Coach couldn't top the last member in the group.

The young hillbilly seemed to possess a mouth that ran on fucking autopilot, spewing out stories of 'him an his buddy Keith' 24/7. It didn't help that the hick had the dumbest, most redneck twang in his speech. Nick swore to god, when this whole apocalypse thing was over, if he ever heard the phrase "did I ever tell yah 'bout this one time me an' mah buddy Keith…" again, he'd fucking _shoot_ someone. With his dumbass blue trucker cap and hick mechanic coveralls, Ellis _bothered_ Nick. And although he'd hate to admit it, the hillbilly mechanic bothered Nick in more than one way. Sure the kid had a way about him that drove the ex-conman absolutely mad with aggravation, but there were those short, fleeting moments when Nick couldn't deny that his heart raced a little faster than it should have. Ellis had these eyes, these clear blue eyes that radiated hope and jubilee. Nick hated that whenever he and the kid made eye contact, the older man couldn't help but notice those stunning cerulean irises and the fact that his pulse jumped. Perhaps, even though he wasn't even sure if he'd accepted it himself, Nick had some feelings for the young mechanic. True that most of those feelings were of annoyance and displeasure, but, tucked away somewhere was a small inkling of affection. Nick wanted to blame that tiny, heart twanging emotion on the fact that the kid was just sort of _lovable_… in a stupid, hick puppy-dog sort of way. Hell, _everyone_ loved the kid. Ro treated the youngster like her own son, and Coach offered encouragement and good-nature towards the radiant redneck. Even when Nick was at his worse, the optimistic hick managed to keep up a good mood. Sure the kid was intrinsically agreeable and endearing, but it wasn't just his outward likeability that had Nick's stomach in a twist. There was definitely something else the older man felt. He hated himself for it. For allowing himself to have feelings. And for some stupid fucking hick, no less! Regardless of _why_ he was feeling these things, or his reaction to these feelings, Nick had grown quite fond and close to the kid.

Perhaps Nick was some sort of masochist, because Jesus-fucking-Christ, the kid really did drive him nuts sometimes. Now was exactly one of those times.

"Dija ever hear 'bout this one time me an' Keith, well jus' Keith really, but he try'd tah ea-"

Nick groaned and half considered putting a bullet though his own brain, before deciding otherwise and disposing of the shell in the decomposing brain of a moaning undead instead.

"Ellis, honey, is now the best time?" Rochelle asked him, swinging her red fire-axe into and through a shrieking zombie. Coach grunted in affirmation as he felled the walkers behind them with a rat-a-tat-a-tat from his AK-47.

"Awh, well, s'a good sto-ree. I'mma have ta' tell it when we got s'more time." Ellis grinned, combat shotgun in hand, taking out some more zombies in a flourish of exploding blood and guts. There was still a good mile to go before they reached the next safe house, but at least the crudely spray-painted directions were becoming more numerous on the walls and sides of buildings. They had better reach it quick, too, because Nick and Coach were both nearly out of ammo.

"Fuck!" Nick cursed, bashing the skull of an infected in with the hilt of his spent shot-gun. Swinging the empty weapon like a club, he felled a few more zombies in a bloody physical showdown before finally tossing the spent gun aside. Placing his hands on his thighs, panting slightly from the effort of combating the hoard, he let loose a slew of colorful words. Looking up at Rochelle, still swinging her axe like a mad woman, he grinned a little, a new-found respect for the smaller woman's gusto.

"C'mon Nick, we got zam-bees ta' kill n' shit!" blurted a bright hick voice.

Ellis.

Nick raised his head, standing up straight almost instantly to give a little glare to the kid. But he was met by those bright, bright blue eyes. Nick couldn't help it; his pulse began to quicken. In an attempt to hide his flustered state, Nick responded in the only way he knew how.

Sarcasm.

"I'm not stupid, kid. I _know_. Now shut up and get going, Overalls." Nick had coined the nickname within the first two days of being in the group.

"Well yessir!" joked the younger man, giving a lazy army salute. Scoffing at the kid, Nick pulled out his secondary weapon, a Desert Eagle, and began jogging ahead. The mechanic caught up with the suit easily, and the pair was soon back with Ro and Coach.

"Now it shouldn't be too much to go." Muttered Coach, slinging the AK-47 over his shoulder "Man oh man, I could do with a cheeseburger." He added on.

"Well, we better keep going until we reach that safe house." Spurred Ro, heading forward. Earlier that day, Virgil had dropped them off at a dock, telling them to make their way towards a bridge. Apparently there would be a CEDA evac copter there. Nodding in a flustered, slightly confused manner, the group was soon left on its own as Virgil went off to look for others. They had been through a town that looked like it had once been quite the hustle and bustle, but now was just riddled with stumbling infected. Since their drop off, they had only come into contact with a few safe houses, and now they desperately needed another.

Coach had just run out of ammo, angrily tossing aside the AK-47 to switch to the only other weapon he had left: a crowbar. Rochelle had switched from her axe to her shotgun, but it had been low on ammo earlier (the reason for her resorting to the axe) and now it was nearly empty.

"Boys, we need to find that safe house." She muttered exasperatedly, using the few rounds she had left preciously. It seemed that Ellis was the only one without ammo issues.

"Damn boy, how you got so many shots left?" Coach asked through labored swings of his crowbar.

"Dunno, Coach. I'm jus' bein' careful of where I be shootin' I gess." The hick replied, showing off exactly what he meant by disposing of 7 infected with an extremely skillful shot.

"Well damn, Overalls." Nick retorted, actually pretty impressed by the kid's shooting. The kid gave Nick a toothy, lopsided grin. It was the grin that made Nick's cheeks flush and his chest tighten. He tried to hide his flustered expression again by swiveling on his heel and taking out a few undead, all with perfectly aimed headshots. They kept traveling on, all the while cursing and complaining about the safe house that was _supposedly_ less than half a mile away. Soon they came upon what looked to be…

Shit.

That was a graveyard. Ellis didn't like to admit it, but graveyards set him on edge. The tombstones pokin' outta the ground like that, the names etched in creepily. Not to mention the childhood memories that were elicited from the headstones and mangled graves. As Ellis' mind began replaying the childhood scenes in his head, the resting ground for the dead before him made his mouth go dry.

Nick was half expecting to hear the kid start with a 'me an mah buddy Keith' story involving a graveyard, but when he looked back at the younger man, he was pale as a ghost. Ro and Coach were itching for that safe room (as they all were), and were walking quickly ahead. Nick looked back at the hick, who was walking slowly now, clutching his shotgun to his chest with white-knuckles, staring around with this bugged-out look on his face.

Gazing at Coach and Rochelle ahead, and Ellis behind, Nick let out a stiff grunt and called out to Ro and Coach.

"I'm gonna stay back here with Overalls. He's got a problem or something. I'll meet you both at the safe room."

Rochelle looked concerned at first, but figured that Nick and Ellis were big boys. They would manage just fine.

"All right, but if you boys aren't back in an hour, I'm comin' back here to find y'all. And I bet Coach here will all ready have eaten your portion of dinner!"

"Damn right!" Coach laughed, the prospect of food making his dark eyes light up with excitement. The pair waved to Nick and jogged on forward, the faint sound of Ro's gun firing and the dull thwacks of Coach's crowbar fading slowly.

Ellis was standing at the gnarled entrance of the graveyard, staring with a terrified expression at the ornate metal of the twisted gate. Nick swore he was shaking.

"Kid, what's gotten into you? The others went ahead all ready. You gotta cut the crap and hurry your ass up." Nick chided, standing with arms crossed. Ellis only looked up at him with this wide-eyed look of dread. Nick rolled his green eyes before he reached out and took hold of the kid's strong bicep, and yanked him through the entrance, into the graveyard. With a sharp intake of breath, Ellis looked around tentatively, blue eyes scanning his surroundings apprehensively. He was still clutching onto his shotgun like a lifeline.

"Seriously, cut this shit out. We gotta get moving." Nick frowned.

"…Nick." Ellis' voice was tiny and fragile.

"What, kid?"

"I ain't very fond'a graveyards."

"I can tell. But that's the only way to a safe house. So start haulin' your ass."

"This one time I-"

"Ellis I swear to god if it's another Keith story I will bury you alive."

Ellis looked hurt almost, his light blue eyes glassing over with moisture. Nick tilted his head, staring inquisitively at the redneck. He wasn't sure what it was, but the mechanic looked genuinely scared.

"Fine, fine. Look, what is it?"

"This one time I was inna graveyard like this'sun." Ellis stared over. "Keith n' Dave n' me, well we was jus' dumb kids then, but they dared me ta' go in the graveyard at night. By muhself." Gulping he continued "I was wonderin' round when bam! I straight up fell in ta' old Mr. Billy's grave! I mean, he had kicked th' bucket two days earlier, they'd dug 'es grave already, and they was gonna put his body in at 'es funeral inna few days. Anyways, I ended up in tha' grave. Was pretty durn deep, and I was only a lil' shramp, so no ways was I gonna git out. I holler'd my head off, but I figure Dave an Keith was jus' laughin' an' stuff, and they didn't hear me or somethin' cus nobody went ta' find me." Ellis' hands were fidgeting awkwardly around the shotgun now, like they couldn't keep still but didn't want to let go of the weapon.

"I… I was stuck'kin that grave fer a whole night. A whole damn night scur'd an' alone. I ain't gonna lie; it was onnna th' most turrifyin' moments of mah life… an' even now… graveyards still frightn' the pants offa me."

Nick was totally unsure of what to do. I mean, what _was_ he supposed to do? Say something like 'It's okay, I'm here for you now.' Or 'Don't be scared, you've got me!' Yeah, like _fuck _he was gonna say any of that. It sounded like it was straight outta some shit chick flick movie. But, he knew he had to do_something_; the kid was scared for his life.

But what?

After an awkward interstice of complete silence, Nick finally gave the kid a hard clap on the back.

"C'mon Overalls, we're a team n' shit." Nick ended. Really, in order to correctly finish that thought, he would've had to add in the 'And a team means we won't leave you behind', but the sappy words just refused to leave his lips. Honestly, he would rather make out with a spitter than sound like some silly sentimental assclown.

The kid seemed to know this, though, of what Nick's real emotions intended but what the hardened man wouldn't allow to show. Even this tiny, almost insignificant show of caring encouraged and lightened the young mechanic's spirits. Looking up at the suit with hopeful blue eyes he asked in the most pathetic little southern whine "You ain't gonna leave me behin' here, are ya' Nick?"

"No, kid." The gambler said truthfully. As much as he'd like to tape the mechanic's mouth shut with some industrial strength duct tape, there was no way in hell he'd leave the kid behind. He'd never say it, but he knew if the shit hit the fan, he'd try his hardest to save the hick, regardless of the cost.

"So are you done now? Can we, like, get moving?" Nick asked, that sarcastic, sharp edge back in his voice.

"Yeah, I'mma goin' Nick." The hick replied, that dumb grin returning to his face as he loosened his faithful grip on the shotgun, easing the tenseness off.

"The others are probably pretty far ahead by now. We should move quickly. How many shots you got left in that gun?" Nick asked, his Desert Eagle already out and loaded. Ellis looked questioningly at his shotgun and shrugged.

"Bout five er' six I figger." Nick nodded, letting out a low sigh.

"Better be careful how you use that. I only got enough rounds in this to last us for so long, kid."

Ellis smiled again, those perfect white teeth framed by a goofy expression. Nick's heart rate began to spike. He was pretty sure that his cheeks were getting visibly red, even in the dimming light. Embarrassedly, Nick started heading ahead, wielding the Desert Eagle brashly. He heard the steps of the younger man behind him, along with the hissing groans of the infected. A snarling zombie dashed towards the older man, and Nick planted a bullet deftly between its eyes. With a squelching splat, Ellis bludgeoned an infected until it was unable to even make a sputter. Following the path, Nick had to be careful about not tripping over anything as the sunlight was fading quickly. Hopping over some low-lying hedge stones, Nick took out a few more undead, but soon re-holstered his gun to save what precious ammo he had left. Looking back at Ellis, he saw the kid close behind, wilding the shotgun tactfully.

"Should be there soon, kid." Nick called, seeing the faint light from the safe room up ahead.

"Well aw rig- HO-LEE SHIT!" Ellis screamed. Nick whipped his head 'round again, eyes wide with horror. He heard the wheezing, slithering hacking from a Smoker, along with the light cloud of putrid green gasses that followed it. The thing had its gross tongue wrapped around the hick's chest, dragging the kid backwards. He had dropped his combat shotgun in the process, and was trying to struggle out of his bonds with no avail. Yelling out loudly, Nick bolted forward, snatching up the fallen gun as he sprinted towards Ellis. The young mechanic let out a shriek as the path the Smoker dragged him on led directly into an open grave. The thing's tongue was still wrapped around Ellis, even after the kid had fallen into the open earth pit, and was now attempting to hang him with its nasty pink tongue. Nick aimed and let fly a round into the vile creature, not even paying attention as the special infected exploded in a cloud of lung-constricting smog. Running to the edge of the open grave, Nick looked down at a shivering Ellis, his eyes nearly popping outta his head. Nick quickly fell to his knees, ignoring the dirty ground that was bound to get soiled into his already dismal white suit. He reached out to Ellis, grasping the kid's hand firmly, whether Ellis wanted to accept it or not. Yanking with all the strength he could muster, Nick hauled the kid's ass out of the open grave, dragging him up by his shirt, forcing him to stand.

Ellis' eyes were huge and glassy, his breaths coming out in shaky, unmetered breaths. His clammy hands grappled shakily at Nick; his arms, his suit lapels, his coat. Anything tangible the mechanic could ball up in his fists. He ended up with both hands fisted in Nick's coat lapels, staring up at the gambler with lost blue irises.

"H-hey kid…" Nick stuttered, knowing that here and now was not a time for is emotions to take over; not a time for him to start getting flustered and aroused. The kid needed him now; and not in _that_ way, either. Ellis needed someone to be there for him, to tell him it was all right.

Well, that definitely wasn't Nick, but he felt bad for the kid, and decided to at least _try_ to help him. They stood there in complete silence, Ellis' knuckles turning pale as his hands twisted as tightly as they could into Nick's suit. The gambler finally placed a large hand on Ellis' shoulder. He didn't attempt to rub his back or pat his shoulder or any of that other shit; he just let that heavy hand rest reassuringly on the hick's shoulder. It wasn't much, and from anyone else in any other situation it would have been meaningless. But it was from _Nick. _Nick, the hardened, callous ex-conman. Nick, the one who told 'em he wouldn't be sticking around for very long (liar). Ellis fixed his gaze onto Nick, peering appreciatively into the older man's green eyes.

"Thanks, Nick." Was all the mechanic got out, but Nick could tell his gesture meant the world to the kid. Ellis slowly unfurled his hands from their vice-like grip on Nick's suit, and the older man handed the shotgun back to Ellis.

Nodding, the kid took the weapon gingerly in his hands, as if he was holding a child. It was only until Nick removed his hand from Ellis' shoulder, giving him a reassuring glance did Ellis seem to snap back into his 'kill all sons a bitches' mentality that was so characteristic of him. The pair hurried on, then, until they reached the safe house, both Nick and Ellis clean out of ammo by that time, covered in blood and swinging their spent weapons like madmen.

"Boys! There you are! I was about to get out there and look for y'all. Luckily for you, Coach just finished makin' dinner and didn't quite get around to eatin' your portions yet."

"Better get your asses in here or I will!" they heard Coach holler from inside. Ro and Ellis let out a hearty chuckle and Nick smirked.

They had gouged themselves on some Mac n' Cheese Coach had found, and Ellis was transported straight back to his childhood. He wouldn't shut up about his 'ma and her dee-lish-us cheesy-Mac' (as he liked to called it.) Darkness had settled in over the land now, and the moon was lifting high into the inky sky. The bars of the safe room window cast striped shadows of alternating bands of light and dark upon Nick, who was leaning with crossed arms against a far wall. Ro and Coach were busy gathering supplies, and would no doubt be heading off to sleep soon. Nick, on the other hand, was far from nodding off. His emotions were flipping the fuck out, and he instantly wished he had a ridiculously hard drink right at that moment. Not only would it take the edge off and calm his raging mind, he was certain that three or four glasses would send him straight off into la-la land. He'd like that, to get some nice (alcohol induced or not) shut eye for once. Unfortunately, booze seemed to be something safe houses (and zombie apocalypses in general) were severely lacking in. Instead he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and pulled out a tattered box of cigarettes. He managed to snag a box back while they were in the hotel, and used them almost as sparingly as ammunition. Coach and Rochelle were silent now in the other room, and Ellis had gone about cleaning his shotgun.

Goddamn Ellis.

The reason the con-man's stomach was doing fucking somersaults was cause of that kid. The reason the gambler was ready to tear someone in half for some liquor was cause of that kid. This whole damn fuckup was cause of that stupid hillbilly. Nick stilled hated himself for caring and feeling something for the dumb hick.

Grimacing, he quietly lifted the heavy metal bar from the safe room door and stepped out into the cool night air. Pulling out a precious smoke, he also produced a worn and faded match-card from his suit pocket. They had once sported the insignia from the same hotel from which he snagged the cigs, but the bright letters were lost in the numerous folds and tears of the flap. Luckily, the match-card still had a few match sticks left, and the striking strip was still intact.

Striking a match, Nick lit the filter, gazing half-mesmerized at the pulsating glow of the burning cigarette. Taking a long drag, enjoying the familiar feeling of the paper on his lips, he blew out a small cloud of smoke, hissing the white vapor out through his parted teeth. He gazed up fondly at the grey cloud as it dissipated in wisps into the night air. He was actually enjoying himself: the aloneness of only the cold air and his cigarette, until he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Yew know, smokin' ain't good fer ya. My momma always used ta tell meh that stuff would kill yah."

Nick looked as the kid stood beside him, gazing up at the starry sky. Huffing out another could of smoke with a snide chuckle, he tapped the ashes from his dwindling cig onto the ground with a graceful index finger.

"Nick."

"What, kid."

"I jus' wanted…ya know…" Ellis paused and looked Nick straight in the eyes, his voice trembling.

"I jus' wanted tah say thanks. Ya' know, fer all you done fer me back there in th' graveyard. I mean, I wouldn'ta made it without yah. Really." Nick inhaled another pull from the smoke, and just nodded, exhaling with an exasperated sigh as his heart began betraying him again, beating a little too fast for his liking. There was perhaps a minute of tension-filled silence until suddenly the younger man grabbed the ex-conman by the lapels of his suit, much like her had done earlier in the graveyard, but this time he didn't stare dumbly in fear at the older man. Tugging the gambler in by his suit, Ellis planted his soft lips on Nick's, ignoring the acrid taste of nicotine and smoke on the conman's breath. At first, the older man's reaction would have been to yell, scream, punch, or push away. But he didn't, because hell, _Ellis was kissing him._ His hand dropped the cigarette that was no doubt still good for another fifteen minutes, but the smoke was instantly forgotten. Taking Ellis' face in his hands, they stood there, lips locked, until Ellis was sure he was going to die of suffocation. Pushing Nick away lightly, they both meet each other's gazes fervently, cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming.

"Thanks, Nick." Whispered Ellis. The older man smirked, looking down at the cigarette that was slowly burning out on the ground.

"You're lucky you're _you_, kid, or else I'd be pretty pissed about that cig." grinned Nick. Ellis just gave him that toothy, lopsided grin, and this time, Nick wasn't ashamed that his heart thumped loudly in his chest as his pulse raced.

* * *

><p><strong>Nellis drabble. Just a little something I whipped up in about 2 hours for a friend. Tried to keep in character Nick and Ellis. If you feel so kind, Rate and or Respond, thankyou!<strong>

**-bill**


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